Just a Little Drunk
by Three Cheers for Cake
Summary: Germany and Italy are drinking together. Over the course of the evening, both of them have their own realisations. Gerita
1. Eins - Deutschland

[Warnings: Um… mentions of alcohol and drinking.]

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Eins - Deutschland

They'd each had a couple of drinks. Italy was tipsy-giggling and nattering non-stop at the blond sat across from him, despite the fact that he kept forgetting the English words and slipping into Italian, to the extent that Germany couldn't understand him anymore. Not that he was really listening to him properly in the first place; he'd learned long ago that it was pointless trying to follow Italy when he started to ramble, and generally ignored him when he did.

But tonight, Germany wasn't _completely_ ignoring Italy; he was just ignoring what he was saying. He was listening to the sound of the Italian's voice, watching as his hand gestures became less coordinated with each glass of wine. The beer had his barriers down, and although he didn't know it, he was smiling fondly at the man sat opposite him.

He liked Italy's voice, he decided. Germany knew that his own accent when he spoke English was rough and harsh, but not so his friend's. The Italian accent made his speech soft and musical. It suited Italy perfectly, Germany thought. A beautiful accent was fitting for a beautiful perso-

Germany hastily cut himself off from that dangerous line of thought, eying his beer mug nervously. He must be drunker than he had estimated; he could never _ever_ allow himself to think like that. If he'd learned anything from that awful, horrifying, _disastrous_valentine's day a few of years ago, it was that Italy liked him as nothing more than a friend. A good friend-his best friend even-but nothing more than that. The German was not good at dealing with the more 'mushy' emotions, but he was very fond of Italy and deeply respected his feelings. He didn't want to force anything onto the cheerful nation, and so had sworn to himself to keep it strictly to friendship. Nothing more.

Well, there was that, and the fact that even if he had wanted to start something with Italy, he wouldn't have a clue how to go about it. Germany was just not good at that kind of thing.

"Germania?" A voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see that Italy was staring at him with concern "Stai bene?" _[Are you alright?]_  
"English, please, Feliciano," Germany prompted gently, "You know my Italian still is not very good. But, er, I'm fine."

The brown eyes blinked.  
"Oh, yes, English. I'm sorry Germa-" Italy was cut short by a hand over his mouth. "Mmmph?"  
"And you're meant to call me Ludwig in public, _Feliciano_," he added, putting emphasis on the Italian nation's human name. Italy giggled again, and Germany was suddenly very aware of the lips underneath his fingers. They felt…soft. A blush rose under his cheeks and he hastily withdrew his hand-trying to ignore that his fingers were trembling. He really hoped Italy hadn't noticed that, or the blush.

Germany took a gulp of his beer, trying to avoid the other's gaze. It had happened _again._ He needed to get over himself, this was getting ridiculous. Every time he touched Italy recently, any progress he'd made in the self-imposed 'think-of-Italy-as-just-a-friend' project would be lost, as his body reacted in the _wrong way_; his heart would go into overdrive, and the accursed blush would spread over his face and ears.

It was worst (best) when Italy asked him for hugs. He would always comply (he could never resist the tearful puppy eyes), but once he was wrapped up in warm Italian, there was no hope for the cold voice of logic. Instead of sensible, appropriate-for-friendship thoughts like "_I hope he feels better now"_ there would be _"He smells nice"_or just_"Mmmmmmmm"_.

Sighing, Germany set his beer down again. He should probably just accept it-he'd fallen for Italy, and he'd fallen _hard_. But his reasons still held, Italy still would never feel the same, so really, it made no difference whether he was in denial about his own feelings or not-he still couldn't _do_ anything.

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AN: As a new author, I would really appreciate your feedback. Which bits did you like? How can I improve? Alternatively, try a Three Word Review! Can you sum up what you thought of this in 3 words? It's a challenge!


	2. Due - Italia

Due – Italia

They'd each had a couple of drinks. Italy was tipsy-giggling and nattering non-stop at the blond sat across from him, although he wasn't really concentrating too hard on what he was talking about anymore, he was just saying whatever popped into his head-giggling occasionally at the thoughts he was voicing. He realised he was probably rambling, but he was definitely enjoying himself. And Germany was listening to him anyway. Germany always listened.

It had been a good idea to come out to this bar, he decided. Italy knew Germany rarely gave himself time off from his work, and was glad that he had, for starters, but even more so because Germany had chosen to spend it with him. It made Italy happy, as th-

The thought stopped in its tracks, and his chatter froze midsentence, as his mind short-circuited. He'd just glanced up, and Germany was looking right at him and smiling.

Germany _smiling._

_Germany_smiling.

For a moment, Italy was completely frozen with shock. He had never seen this smile before. It was small, but pure and sweet. For once, Germany looked perfectly content and happy; there was no frustration with Italy, or anger at Italy, or worry about Italy. His face had softened, the constant frown smoothing out. The smile warmed the intense blue of his eyes, contrasting them perfectly with his summer blond hair and pale skin.

Italy's fingers twitched. He needed to paint this. He needed to take and preserve forever this moment, this man, chin in hand and elbow resting on a battered pub table, fingers wrapped around a glass of German beer. The shapes and colours and shadows were just…so perfect. It was beautiful. Germany was beautiful. How had he never noticed before?

However, even as Italy watched, the smile faltered and fell, his friend's gaze falling. Panic gripped the Italian's heart.  
"_Germany?"_ Two blue eyes looked up into his. They looked so conflicted. Pain, anger, frustration, a hint of despair. What had Germany thought of that had affected him this badly? Anxiety rippled through Italy's mind. "_Are you alright?"_ he asked, carefully examining his friend's face. Amusement flickered through the blue storm, and the older nation let himself relax slightly.  
"English, please, Feliciano. You know my Italian still is not very good," said Germany quietly, "But, er, I'm fine"

Italy blinked. He'd been speaking Italian? He hadn't even realised it. He must be drunker than he had thought, and the wine messing with his concentration. He gave a sheepish smile.  
"Oh, yes, English," he said, this time using the language they both spoke, "I'm sorry Germa-"

The 'ny' was cut off by unexpected fingers over his mouth. Italy looked up, surprised. He tried to ask 'What?' but it came out as muffled  
"Mmmph?"  
"And you're meant to call me Ludwig in public, _Feliciano_"

Italy's alcohol fuzzed mind chose that moment to pick up on the amusing way Germany pronounced his human name, with far too much emphasis on the consonants, and he giggled. Unfortunately, this action only made him extremely aware that Germany_wasn't wearing gloves._ His eyes widened, and for the second time in the space of two minutes, his mind short circuited, whatever it was he'd just been told already forgotten. He suddenly couldn't focus on anything other than feel the hand over his mouth, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears.

Fortunately, before Italy's body got the better of him and he did something stupid, Germany jerked his hand away rather suddenly, leaving Italy gasping a little, his lips feeling very bare without cool German fingers pressing to them. He looked down, trying to avoid the other's gaze, and noticed his own fingers, curled around the stem of his glass, trembling uncontrollably. What on earth was going on?

He knew these symptoms. Accelerated heartbeat and loss of concentration, among other things. It was-it was what love was supposed to feel like, but…that would mean he loved… Germany?

He thought about this awhile, sipping more of his wine. Italy had been around a long time, and knew that _real_ love was something that developed slowly. You could only love someone once you had got to know them for who they were. Yes, some believed in love at first sight, but he was sure that was just people confusing love for lust. Weren't these feelings he was having too new and sudden to be called love?

Or were they new? It struck Italy that they weren't, not really. They were a bit different, and certainly more intense that they had ever been, but new? No. Germany was definitely special to him. He would always feel peculiarly warm inside when Germany was around, especially when he complimented his cooking, or accepted his hugs. Italy nodded to himself- hugs from Germany were definitely his favourite. And it seemed he was only just starting to realise why, and quite how important this man was to him.

He looked up at the other nation, who was sighing as he put down his now half empty beer glass, looking glum again. He felt a nibble of worry for him, but it couldn't stop the wide grin spreading across his face.

"_Germany_," Italy said, happy to be sharing his new realisation,_"I love you!"_

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AN: …that was so hard! Italy, poppet, you're adorable and I love you, but _please let me into your head!_I really, really hope this worked.

Anyway, it's time to tell me what you thought! That means…Three Word Reviews please, people!_(But I do love longer ones…*hint hint*)_


	3. Three - Gerita

[WARNING-There's a sweary word in this chapter.]

Three – Gerita

Sighing, Germany set his beer down again. He should probably just accept it-he'd fallen for Italy, and he'd fallen _hard_. But his reasons still held, Italy still would never feel the same, so really, it made no difference whether he was in denial about his own feelings or not-he still couldn't _do_ anything.

"Germania!" Germany looked up, frowning. What had he just said about speaking English? He opened his mouth to reprimand, but Italy beat him to it.

"Ti amo!" _[I love you!]_

There was a beat, a pause as Germany's rather foggy mind caught up with the translation, and then the blond jerked backwards, eyes wide and startled, disbelief the foremost emotion on his face. There was no way, just _no way_ that had happened. He couldn't have heard that. Hadn't he just resigned himself to being stuck in a love that was completely one sided? Didn't he _know_ that Italy only ever had and only ever would like him just as a friend? It must be a mistake. It had to be!

"W-was‽" _[What__‽__]_He stuttered. Italy dissolved into giggles.  
"You're the one doing it now, Germany!" Germany just looked at him, even more confused.  
"Häh? Was meinst du?"_[Huh? What do you mean?]_  
"You're speaking German!"  
Germany grimaced. "Ach, I-I'm sorry. I-you-do you really _mean_ what you said?"

Italy was a little taken aback by the intensity in that last question. Germany looked…desperate? What was that about? Somewhere deep in Italy's mind, the expression was labelled 'cute'. He blushed.  
"I-ah-I…" Italy took a deep breath, then, looking straight at the other, he said firmly "Sì"  
Germany closed his eyes and shook his head, as if he didn't believe it.  
"Italien…liebt…mich?" _[Italy loves me?]_

Italy gave a small sigh, but his expression grew determined.  
"Deutschland!" Brought instantly to attention by the use of his own name, Germany's head snapped up, and he gave an automatic  
"Ja?"  
"Listen to me," said Italy, leaning forwards, "I love you. I _love_ you. Can you really not believe that? Is it because- mmmmph?"

It was the second time in one evening Italy's words had been cut short by a German hand. He looked up, a little fearful, but met eyes that held no malice, only something akin to wonder, or awe. Germany spoke softly,  
"Du liebst mich?" _[You love me?]_He withdrew his hand, allowing Italy respond. He received just a silent nod, but it was more than enough. It was everything. Everything he had hoped and feared and wished for since he had guessed he was in love was there was there, confirmed in one tiny gesture.

Then, Germany did something. Something that, if he was completely sober, he would never-_could_ never-do. Not quite so suddenly. Not in a public place. Not without asking first. But, as it happened, in that moment he wasn't sober, he was drunk. Just a little drunk, but it was enough to quell his inhibitions enough that his next actions were bold, possibly stupid, and completely out of character.

He stood up, causing his chair to slip backwards across the floor. Resting his arms on the table, he leaned across until he was nose to nose with the one who, up until today, he had accepted to call 'friend'. There, he hesitated slightly, looking into those hypnotic brown eyes and feeling that he needed to say something, but he couldn't think what. So Germany just spoke aloud the one word that had been rattling around in his head every time he had seen Italy since…he didn't know:

"Wunderschön." _[Beautiful.]_

He closed the gap.

The sensation of Germany's lips on Italy's own was simply overwhelming; Italy became completely oblivious to anything and everyone outside the two of them. Eyes fluttering closed, he leaned up further into the kiss, reaching an arm up to thread his fingers through Germany's hair, and heard a deep, contented "Mmmmmmmm". Soft lips moved over one another, and the moment felt so warm and wonderful and _perfect,_Italy didn't want it to end.

Germany-whose mind was in a terrible state at that moment-became gradually aware that the background chatter, which had been pretty noisy, had gone _completely_ silent. _Scheiße. _Full of dread, he pulled back slowly, opening his eyes to regard the room. Oh _no._ They were _all_ staring at them. Jaws hung open, hands holding beer were frozen halfway to mouths. Germany's felt his cheeks start to burn. The worst thing was, because he was a regular here, nearly all of these people _knew_ him. What had he _done_?

Then, a man at another table-his name was Karl-stood up, a huge grin on his face. He spoke in German,  
"_Well, finally! Congratulations, Ludwig, we thought you'd never find someone! A toast, my friends, for Ludwig Beilschmidt and…whoever this chap is!"__  
_With that, Karl raised his glass and the stillness shattered, the room erupting with cheers; people were standing and raising glasses, shouts and calls of approval and congratulation filling the air. Germany sat back in his chair, face and ears completely scarlet. Across the table from him, Italy was laughing delightedly, happier than he had been for a very long time.

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AN:Special thanks goes to Merpa, who kindly corrected my German.

And now…Three Word Reviews? Thank.

Love,

JM


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